Tuesday
Tuesday
I woke up before my alarm today. Damn. Isn’t that a sentence that just grabs your attention? You want to keep reading, don’t you? You gotta start somewhere. I woke up way before my alarm. I could have gone back to sleep but I decided to just get the hell out of bed. I wanted some extra time to fill up my tank. Having to stop for gas when you’re in a hurry gives me mad anxiety like so many things do. As a result, I end up in the office early. I’m typing away at my thoughts but to the untrained eye, it might look like I’m hard at work at some arcane IT task. People might be thinking, that boy works hard. That boy shows up early. That boy is going places.
Monday was uncharacteristically gentle. The world be fuckin’ with me. The world be slow rollin’ me into a false sense of security and then BAM! I’m asking my doctor if Paxil is right for me. Sometimes things go okay. Sometimes they even go well. I don’t ever trust it. The world always be up to some shit, ya dig?
The world is mundane and strange at the same time. Everybody goes about their business chasing nickels and dimes while the next apocalypse or whatever the fuck happens in slow motion. Life really does just go on.
Sometimes I wonder if somebody is going to stumble across this and recognize me and then it occurs to me that people who kinda sorta know me might read this. The fact of the matter is that some of what I’ve written here is cringe-y. I’m just going to have to live with that.
I look at my LinkedIn profile and that’s my name. I really wrote that stuff on my profile. I don’t really recognize that guy. I hate LinkedIn. It feels strange to say that I hate the corporate world when I barely exist in it really. I’m barely in it. I’m low-level but I think I’m okay being here. I don’t really have too much of a desire to go any higher. It occurs to me that I’m fairly good at playing a role. I’m good at occupying a role satisfactorily. I guess my work persona is that of a semi-techy Mr. Rogers. Pretending. Double-lives. That’s sexy, isn’t it? Or is it? Day dreams about being a spy. Not James Bond shit. More like The Americans. Day dreams about infiltrating some drug operation in 1980s Miami. Modern but still retro reboot of Miami Vice. I’ve watched far too much TV. It’s only recently that I’m realizing just how much that has fucked me up.
Double lives? I wonder what kinda double lives people have here. Not even double lives. Just secrets. Drugs. Freaky sex stuff. Honestly, the only thing that interests me right now is drugs and freaky sex stuff. See. There is TV messing with my mind again. People are people. They are not characters in some shitty prestige TV drama on HBO. Real life is just real life.
I’m not always busy at this job. Sometimes things move slow. I’m always conscious of how busy I look. I always try to look occupied. No matter how slow it gets, you will not catch me playing games on my phone or on my computer. That shit looks bad. I will mutter things to myself that are technical so that it looks like I am chewing on some problem for someone upstairs. The last thing that I need is someone wondering what I’m being paid to do. I also get up and walk around so that people see me. I figure it looks weird if I just sit in my cubicle all day.
I’ve written just over 600 words today. I suppose that’s a good thing but there is very little in the way of insight in any of these words. Of course, I didn’t have a clear objective. I guess what this comes down to is making writing a habit. I want to make writing a habit because it satisfies me. It makes me feel better. I like the effect it has on my mind. There probably never will be a time that I’m not some neurotic mess but maybe I can do something with that.
More Posts from Mistahsojourner and Others
I’m tryin’ to try
but if I die
I’m like, “Okay. Yeah.”
Sunday afternoons are a bad trip
without a sitter
without a map
without old men with kind eyes
who tell you exactly where the fuck you are
and how to get back home.
Dad bod and the mind of a philosopher king.
It’s.. hey. I don’t really think I’m a king. It’s me being braggadocious.
I got no idea what to do with this today. Been feeling that a lot lately. I think it would be a lazy cop out to just write that and leave it at that. Even though it is lazy, it’s honest. This is just some dumb blog but I’m not going to write anything that isn’t true and I’m sure as fuck not going to write anything that I don’t feel or that I don’t believe in.
Of course, that does not mean every single thing I’m going to write will have weight behind it. Shit, I could write that I want pizza and that could be quite true and something I truly believe in. I’m just not going to bullshit you. Do you believe me? Why do you believe me? What reason do you have to believe me? Fuck. If you do believe me, I have to say that I’m genuinely touched. Thank you.
I’m surprised that I’ve stuck with this. In the spirit of not bullshitting you, I’m a bit of a flake. I tend to give up pretty easily. That’s why I don’t have a ton to show for 35 years of life. When things get tough, I tend to peace the fuck out. This is a long established pattern. It’s what I do. Yeah, a large part of this tendency is animated by depression. Yeah, I’m too hard on myself but I don’t want to be too easy on myself either. Don’t mistake me for a climber though. What I’m after is fulfillment, personal satisfaction. I could give a fuck about climbing. I know that I’m never getting rich writing poems about rain. Poems. I hardly ever do that anymore. Whenever I try, sometimes I end up with these aggressive, creative rhymes but I just stop when I really can’t rhyme anymore. I do have to say that I got some satisfaction from yesterday’s entry when I started off typing the word ‘fuck’ over and over and over again and then ended up on some semi-poetic meditation on the word ‘fuck’ and the contexts that it gets said among other things. I may re-visit that.
Saying mean things to Tucker Carlson on Twitter does not make the world a better place but it makes me feel a little bit better about his existence on this planet. I don’t want to debate him. He isn’t worth the effort. He doesn’t give a shit about logic or facts and if I’m being honest (which I try to be.) neither do I. They have their place but in the world we got, they got seriously limited utility. When power decides facts don’t matter, they don’t matter. Tucker may not ever read the barbs I tweet his way but I think there is power in giving a mouthpiece for the protofascist scum running the country the respect he deserves.
The DSA (Democratic Socialists of America) made me proud this week with their badass direct action in Washington, D.C. and Portland, Oregon. Good work, comrades.
We have a barbecue at work to celebrate the summer solstice. Work stuff like that tends to be lame but I enjoyed BS’ing with the people I work with. I’m a shy guy by nature but I do enjoy having animated conversations with people and making them laugh or at the very least engaging with people in a genuine sorta way.
That’s an accurate description of my project, I suppose. Being genuine. Authentic.
Authenticity however is a bitch and it can be a luxury you just cannot fucking afford sometimes. Shit, I think you can really only have so much of it in a world where your good looks, charm and kindness don’t pay your bills.
Maybe I'm doing something right.
Maybe.
I don't fucking know though.
You feel me?
Can't even dress it up.
Anything that ever worked wasn't cuz of the white boy in me.
I wanna mean that.
Loosely connected thoughts.
Back to the lab again.
Just tryin' to live.
She told me, "May you find your worth in the waking world."
I picked up the controller again.
She shook her head and insisted I had learned what I needed to learn.
The waking world.
Back to the world.
To try and live.
Ordinary man.
Trying to live.
That's all.
I don't think anybody but spam bots be following me but...
If you're real. Let me know.
Been kind of a brutal weekend for me.
Didn’t know that I was going to be dealing with a sick dog. All of that wrecked me. Think I got my cry quota done for the next week.
I’m exhausted. I feel beat up.
I’d take a hug or two.
That dog is hanging in though. She is this adorable thing but god damn, she’s tough.
I think I’m way too up in my feelings right now.
I’ll get back to you.
I lay in a semi-dark room and listen to Hulk Hogan's old walk-in theme "Real American."
This song is America.
"I am a real American. Fight for the rights of every man. I am a real American. Fight for what's right. Fight for your life."
If only.
I also scroll through the normie politics subreddit and people are wondering if we are one violent incident away from this country exploding like a Roman candle.
I see it.
Everything is so sinister and mean.
Sloop John B plays in my ear.
"This is worst trip I've ever been on."
We're on that trip, America.
Half naked.
Arms raised like some prophet preachin’ what nobody wanted to hear
but I bleed for ‘em
so they love me
Get punched.
Get kicked.
The more it hurts
The more they feel it
that stuff people think is the holy spirit.
Tightness in the chest
need bed rest
but the show must go on
the roar of the diabetic souls
that in the night
tell me not to mix those two things
gets me through another one.
Fly to victory
and then the waiting room.
